


I Didn't Mean It, I SWEAR!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:06:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Tempting fate, that was what it had been, and by now he should have known better.  Craig Garrison remembered that moment all too well, the moment when he'd shaken his head, *wondering why he'd worried so about how to explain things to Meghada.  It seems she hadn't even turned a hair, not with Danny, or now with Eloise.  {"I would be interested to see what WOULD put her in a flap,"} he thought casually, then felt the universe still, as if listening to his words.  Frantically he thought to himself, {"I didn't mean it!  I didn't mean it!  Please, I swear, I didn't mean it!!!"}Somehow, though, he was afraid he was too late.  Someone, something, somewhere had been listening.**Quote from very end of "You Can Lead A Redmond To Heaven,But You Can't (Make Him Stay)"





	I Didn't Mean It, I SWEAR!

They'd been gone for a very, very long three weeks, but were in a jovial mood upon their return, what with how well everything had turned out. No one had gotten even a scratch, they'd completed the mission, HQ had even seemed relatively pleased with their performance, and (although Garrison didn't know about it, of course) the guys had ended up with one beautiful haul for their 'retirement fund'. 

They were all looking forward to some down time, a good round at the pub, maybe having some real laughs if they convince Garrison to wrangle them a little bit of leave, which he'd hinted he just might be able to arrange. Yeah, things were looking good.

They had come back to an oddly quiet Mansion, none of the guards saying much, even the ones on a closer, even joking basis with the guys quiet and not meeting anyone's eyes. Private Jenkins had watched them drive in, and for some reason, he looked highly uncomfortable, and quickly made himself scarce. Private Perkins had seemed more disapproving than uncomfortable, even seemed disappointed in them for some reason, like they'd let him down in some way. 

Even Casino, not one for picking up on the more nuanced ripples in the atmosphere usually, had noticed. "Hey, what's eatin everyone? Someone forget to flush the john before we left?" No one could tell him, them each having the same look of bewilderment. Garrison had been just as bewildered, since he seemed to be coming in for the same looks, no, maybe even the majority of those looks.

Garrison figured he'd hear soon enough, but it seemed everyone was avoiding him just as much as they were avoiding the guys. Even Sergeant Major Gil Rawlings was, well, off. No, frankly Gil was walking on egg shells, looking like he was afraid to even open his mouth.

When Garrison called him into his office and asked him about the unusually subdued atmosphere, he just had to wonder what dire news they'd had received that Garrison and the guys weren't yet aware of. 

The non-com had actually turned pale. 

"I can explain everything, Lieutenant," but then proceeded to hem and haw and do everything BUT explain. Finally, it seemed he had just given up, since he sighed and told an increasingly frustrated Garrison.

"Better let you discuss that with the miss down at the Cottage, Lieutenant. Wouldn't like to get in the middle of anything. Not my place, neither to gossip nor to pass judgement."

Still, something about those tightly pursed lips disputed at least the last part of that statement. And, Garrison realized, the look he was getting from his usually supportive team member was more than a little disapproving.

"Okay, Gil. Just tell me. What trouble have the guys caused this time?" and he was shocked to see that look intensify, now with a great deal of obviously censorial judgement included, no matter what Rawlins had said before. 

"Don't know that it's anything to do with the MEN, though I suppose maybe . . ."

And with that, an odd flush came over his face, and Rawlins turned and started to leave the office. He paused, stopped and turned around with a jerk, the words spilling out one on top of the other. 

"Didn't know w'at else to do, Lieutenant, w'at with you not being 'ere, and I wasn't trying to cause problems for you, really I wasn't, but, I just aint equipped . . ." He stuttered to a halt, then drew a deep breath, "well, best you speak to the miss." And he was gone, leaving Craig Garrison even more bewildered than he'd been before that conversation that was supposed to 'explain everything'.

"Stay here, I'll be back! I do NOT want to have to go looking for you!" he yelled up the stairs, for once not getting any catcalls or other signs of their amusement. The men upstairs were too busy trying to figure out just what the heck was going on, and Goniff was already trying to decide when it would be safe for him to sneak out the side door and head for his home-away-from-home.

 

He'd had to search for the key to the gate to the Cottage, it for some reason being locked. He'd knocked briskly at the kitchen door, and then stepped in, calling out "Meghada??!" only to be greeted by a wild wail that seemed to cause the roof to tremble in response.

The redhead had glared at him, "you woke him up! Do you have any idea how long it took me . . .????" She let out a frustrated huff of air, trying to blow that strand of loose hair up off her forehead.

He started to back away from the flushed and disheveled Dragon, seemingly close to spitting fire, only to have a bundle thrust at him, a bundle he instinctively caught hold of. 

"Oh, no, my fine bucko! You are going nowhere! Just sit yourself down and rock him back to sleep. And put a bloody smile on your face while you're about it! Seems he can tell the difference and aught else just makes him go on longer!" That snarl was one of the most impressive he'd ever heard from her, he noted somewhere in the back of his stunned mind, and if she was calling that wide baring of the teeth SHE was sporting 'a smile', well, HE'D not call it that.

Garrison sat down on the piano bench with a thump, looking down at the red-faced screaming infant he was, for some unknown reason, being entrusted with. 

He started to protest, "why don't YOU . . ." only to see her with a similar bundle in her arms now, the noises there not as furious, but still showing a considerable level of discontent.

"Because his brother hadn't even GOTTEN to sleep when you came banging on the bloody door, that's why!!! Never mind their sister, who doesn't seem to know what the bloody word 'sleep' even means!! Well, at least SHE doesn't seem to feel the need to scream about it; I suppose that's something!" she said, begrudgingly.

Why Meghada had been left alone with her infant brothers and sister, Garrison hadn't a clue. Whatever had possessed Lupan and Felane to do so, though, he was pretty sure HE shouldn't be stuck holding a screaming infant. When he'd expressed that thought, he thought she was going to throw that baby bottle she was holding straight at his head.

"You've met my parents, Craig. Do they LOOK like they're my baby brothers and sister? Take a bloody good look."

He took a long look at the one in his arms, noting the blond hair, the blue eyes, and thought to himself, {"damn it, Goniff! Surely not!! What the hell??!"}. That glare was just getting worse, which frankly he'd have thought was impossible.

Just then a shaft of light showed him more clearly the baby in HER arms, and the sight of those pale green eyes made him jerk with shock. He took a look at the other blonde, supposedly the girl, {"and aren't all the girls in their family redheads??"} apparently watching the whole scene with interest from her tilted position on that heap of pillows on the floor. Watching with brilliant green eyes. {"Blond hair. Green eyes. Oh, hell."}

The note she'd thrust at him, after the screamer had gone off to sleep, and other two had at least been willing to doze, it hadn't been overly informative, other than the rather blunt basics.

*"No one knows a thing, and I want to keep it that way. I've done my part. I refuse to spend the rest of my life paying for one drunken mistake! YOUR mistake! It's your turn! Oh, they eat every two hours; they will let you know when they are hungry. Believe me, they will let you know!"*

The fact that the note was unsigned was not particularly helpful.

He would have sworn it wasn't possible, but his uneasy mind went back to that extended leave in London where he had been trying to come to grips with his newly-recognized obsession with blond hair and blue eyes, when he'd been trying with all his might to present a picture of a carefree, unattached young officer. Well, as carefree as a young officer was likely to be in wartime anyway. There had been a few nights about which he had less than perfect memory. But still, surely he hadn't . . . Blond hair, blue eyes - had his obsession with blond hair and blue eyes actually led him . . .? 

He did the math. {"July. That was last July. This is April - That would make it . . ."} and he groaned out loud. 

He took another look at Meghada, not sure what he was seeing in her face, but figuring the situation couldn't get much worse.

Of course it could, and did, when Goniff waltzed through the kitchen door, with a blithe "ei, Craig. Did you figure out w'at was wrong with Sergeant Major . . ." One dropped jaw, one incredulous reading of that note, and one blistering look later, Garrison admitted to himself, {"yes, it actually could get worse!"}.

Goniff was directed to sit down, and received 'Mr. Green', as Meghada called him, and was too shocked to dispute her, other than a quick, "ei, you aint leaving us alone with them, are you??!" 

{"Lord, please, no, don't!"} Garrison pleaded, as 'Mr. Blue' started to whimper again at the sound of Goniff's raised voice. He quickly plastered that fake smile on his face and began to rock back and forth, watching Goniff look at him like he'd lost his mind.

"He doesn't like it if you don't smile; he starts screaming," Garrison moaned, and Goniff's eyes got wider, and he plunked an even more fake smile on his own face and started doing a little energetic rocking of his own.

Even as miserable and filthy and tired as Meghada was, she had to force herself to keep from laughing at the sight of the two of them, obviously totally freaked out.

"You just sit there and keep them happy, and watch little Miss Claus over there to make sure she doesn't topple over."

"Miss Claus?" Garrison had figured out the Mr. Blue and Mr. Green, but Miss Claus?

"You know, the one who's always watching to see if you've been bad or good?" and the first hint (just a bare hint) of a smile appeared on the redhead's face.

"But w'ere are you GOING?" Goniff blurted out, taking another look down at the green eyes watching him so carefully, just waiting for him to make a wrong move, or so it seemed to him. This wasn't like those other babies, the ones him and the guys had pulled out of that place and brought back home with them; no, these babies seemed to have an agenda, and he just wasn't sure he and Garrison were up to the job.

"I, laddie, am going to toss these clothes in the laundry basket, take a shower and wash my hair, and catch a nap. Mr. Green spritzed me when I was changing his diaper. Mr. Blue spit up all over my shirt. Little Miss Claus squeezed HER bottle enough to shower me with milk, though at least hers was FIRST hand, not second like with Mr. Blue. I've not had a moment free since they arrived on Sunday, or so it seems. By the time I get one fed and burped and changed and sung to sleep, it's time for the next, then the next. By then, the first is back needing attention. I've heard the story about you and those other babies, so it's not like I'm leaving them with amateurs, now is it? Bottles are in the fridge, diapers and cloths and such on the desk in the library, pan on the stove. Feel free to call in the troops if you want, just keep the noise down. We'll talk later." 

She turned and leveled a long look at Garrison, then at Goniff just out of principle, "believe me, we'll talk."

Goniff complained to Garrison, though in a very low voice, all the while rocking away, still with that fake smile on his face, "don't know w'at she was glaring at ME about; aint like . . .", taking another long look at Mr. Blue, then shaking his head resolutely. "Nope, not one sign of that one being mine, cept for the blond 'air and blue eyes, and that aint uncommon. Sides which, I AIN'T, not recent enough, not cept with 'Gaida. Now blond 'air and green eyes, that's something else, now aint it, Craig?" giving Garrison a rather arch look. Not an accusing look, exactly, more one of patiently waiting for an explanation, any explanation. Garrison got the impression that Goniff would make every possible effort at believing whatever explanation Garrison chose to give, up to and including downright denial. Hell, he might even be willing to take a stab at believing a story about a stork and a cabbage patch. The problem was, of course, that Garrison didn't have ANY explanation to give.

By the time Meghada arose from a three hour nap, the troops had been called in in the persons of Casino, Chief and Actor, and everything was progressing smoothly. There was fresh tea and coffee made and waiting, a hot pot of soup on the stove, bourbon bottle and a glass waiting for her. All three babies had been fed, rocked, cossetted, and were as content as she'd seen them. And in the blessed quiet, she told them the story.

"As I heard it, this big car pulled up to the guard box, the driver telling Private Jenkins that he had a Special Delivery for the 'blond officer up at the big house.' Next thing Jenkins knows, he's seeing the tail end of the car, and has three vegetable boxes at his feet - Carrots, Potatoes, Turnips. He's hearing noises, wonders if someone left off some kittens as a joke, and about falls over to see those three! Takes them right to Gil; my understanding is only the three of them are in the know about the particulars - Gil, Private Jenkins and Private Perkins. Never seen Gil Rawlins in such a taking! HE didn't know what to do with them, he didn't want to involve any outsiders til he had a chance to talk with you, so next thing I know he's on the phone to me. I can't make heads or tails of what he's trying to tell me, so there he is at my door with the by now very hungry and very vocal newcomers. I send Gil to Rebecka to beg some baby bottles and basic supplies, since the orphanage does get a smaller one now and then, some milk from Mrs. Davis who supplies such, and there I am trying to remember how my mother coped with the young ones at that age."

At the answer to a tentative question from Garrison, she replied impatiently, "well, of course, I kept them with me, Craig! What was I supposed to do, toss them out in the road?? They're babies, not leftover vegetables! Not mentioning the strong implication that they're YOURS, which makes them family, formally introduced or not. And no, I've involved no one else; Gil never told Rebecka or Mrs. Davis who he was asking on behalf of, and they were kind enough not to pressure him. But I must say, I'm more than a little happy to see you back so we can get to the bottom of this! And I have to say Kevin Richards is losing patience with me telling him 'sorry, not available' with not a lot of other explanation!"

She was watching him expectantly, as was Goniff. Casino, Chief and Actor had baby duty and were in the library watching over the three, all now quiet for a change. Garrison was a little surprised to read only quiet expectation, nothing in the way of accusations, in their expressions. {"I just wish to hell I had something sensible to say."}

It had been a little drawn out, more than a little embarrassing, but finally it was all out. 

"So you really DON'T remember, not anyone?"

"I remember a Melissa, and a Bonnie, but I'm not sure they were real. I think they were from my nightmares, before you helped me put a stop to those particular ones," giving the other two a wry smile. "Both had blue eyes, one was a blonde, one had brown hair. But, like I said, I don't think they really existed; at least, I never thought so before."

Meghada sighed, "so we start backtracking. Look at it as a delayed debriefing, Craig. I'll get tablet and pencils, you write down every tiny detail of that leave you can remember, then go back and dig around in your mind til you find more and then even more. Check your records; I know you keep a cash and mileage record, both for the military and for personal expenses, along with your calendar and journals; the guys have twitted you often enough about that. They've often said you could recreate any portion of any time from all that. Well, now's the time to see if they're right, and you'd better hope they are. We'll take that and start verifying details, seeing if we can find a trail. There are two main possibilities, of course. Either they AREN'T yours, and you are being misled, and we need to find out by whom and why and where their real parents are. OR they ARE yours, in which case we need to find out the particulars, who and where their mother is, and why they were left with you." She didn't mention the 'and what happens if they ARE yours'; that would wait til they had more details. She just hoped they came up with some information soon; she had the feeling she just might get attached to those three pretty quickly. And if she was having to keep asking Mrs. Wilson and Sheila Riley to take care of Max while she was gone, just how was she supposed to take care of three infants??

Goniff gave a snicker, "just w'en ever we think things were starting to get a little dull, you always seem to come up with something to keep it interesting, Craig."

Garrison would have glared at him, but he just didn't have the energy. His mind had just flickered back to that little incident with Danny and Eloise, when he'd had that terribly misguided thought about Meghada and how well she handled things. {"I would be interested to see what WOULD put her in a flap,"} he'd thought casually, then felt the universe still, as if listening to his words. Frantically he'd thought to himself, {"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! Please, I swear, I didn't mean it!!!"}. Somehow, though, he had been afraid he was too late. Someone, something, somewhere had been listening. Now, he knew it for sure!

It had been a cumbersome process, especially since they had to be so careful not to let anyone know they were even doing the research. Rather like working a puzzle, it had been, a tiny piece here, a snippet of information there, gathered by various of the Friends and Family. Finally, there was only one piece missing, and a triumphant Joyce McClain had delivered that.

"Oh, yes, totally wasted, poor thing. Lucas was quite worried about him, in fact. Had started the evening with that almost-forced joviality that points to serious trouble underneath, then proceeded to swill down more bad whiskey than he was obviously used to. Still, he's a sweetheart, and was approached by more than one of the ladies present, or so Lucas tells me. There was one, Brittany Majors, a fairly new widow, who seemed quite put out at his refusals, but she shifted over to one of the others fast enough when your Lieutenant bowed out."

Joyce gave a rueful laugh, "and that was almost literally, you know. Lucas said he'd gone from determinedly cheerful to detached to slightly sad, made a fast slide from there all the way to melancholy, and after he'd turned down Brittany Majors, he'd started to leave. Made it all the way to the front door, where Lucas says he caught him right before he hit the floor. Lucas got him back to his hotel, turned him over to the proprietor, a Mr. Marchant, for safekeeping. Oh, there was a stop or two along the way, but just to let him cast up his accounts on the side of the road instead of in the car, but other than that, never a moment alone. No, he'd never even disappeared into an alcove with anyone; Lucas swears to that. Kept an eye on him, he did, wondering just what was bothering the man so much, that not being like Lieutenant Garrison at all."

Well, that filled in that last piece of unaccounted for time, and Henri Marchant had confirmed he'd poured Craig into a bed in Henri's own quarters, since he was that worried about him. And the very last piece of information? Well, that was that Brittany Majors had then made a very determined play for one of the other officers, surprisingly, another green eyed blond Lieutenant. Some additional research on Brittany Majors, and another conversation ensued at the Cottage, and some decisions made.

 

Chrystalle O'Donnell shook her head in wonder, looking down at the three. "And you are really willing . . .?"

"They need a good place, Cousin, with someone, several someones, who are willing and able to care for them. Who WANT to care for them and raise them. I can think of no one more apt than you and Brian and Giselle." There was a firm resolution in Meghada's face, though not unmixed with regret. "They really are dears, even if more than a little opinionated, especially Mr. Blue over there. If I wasn't galloping here and there and everywhere, perhaps . . ."

Chrystalle chuckled, "well, so is our Brian, rather opinionated, I mean, so that won't seem out of place, nor that blond hair either. They are both eager and willing, if you are sure." Brian and Giselle, Chrystalle's Bond Mates, were both Friends, but not Clan-born; Chrystalle was, but an early accident had left her unable to bear children. These would truly be treasured additions to their own family.

And so it was that Mr. Blue and Mr. Green and Miss Claus - soon to become Alex and Connor and Evelyn - became part of Clan O'Donnell, to be welcomed and loved and raised as any other child of the Clan. 

It was a good six months down the road when she appeared at the Mansion, a hard-faced blonde woman of maybe thirty, demanding to see Lieutenant Garrison. Upon hearing he wasn't there, and upon hearing what she had come for, Sergeant Major Rawlins directed her to the Cottage.

"Aven't any idea w'at your talking about, but the miss at the Cottage knows the Lieutenant's business better than I or my men do. She might be able to figure out w'at yer going on about; I 'aven't the time or the patience for your nonsense! Babies! W'at would babies be doing at a military installation! Got more than enough on our plate as it is!"

As soon as she'd stamped her way back to her car, he'd raced for the phone to give the lass at the Cottage a heads-up. "Thought it best you get some warning; make sure you have everything well out of sight."

Brittany Majors, supposed widow of blond-haired, green eyed Leland Majors, Lieutenant Majors having been reported killed in action almost seventeen months ago. Now, he'd shown up, having been direly wounded and only recently regaining enough of his memory to be able to identify himself. He'd returned to his home, but with enough remaining damage that he would most likely never sire children. That was sufficient to put him out of the running to inherit his extremely aged uncle's estate, once that good man departed this earth.

While HE was resigned to that, Brittany had been counting on that inheritance, or at least a sizeable portion of it. Why, even after Leland had been reported killed, the old man had promised her a goodly amount, telling her it was hardly her and Leland's fault they hadn't had time to have children. Of course, the old man had watched her carefully, expecting her to remain true to Leland's memory, and wasn't THAT a deadly bore!

When a spot of revelry resulted in her getting pregnant just a little too late to reasonably put the credit to her husband, she'd departed on an extended stay in Switzerland "to grieve for my dear husband in solitude." She'd been a little too far gone by the time she admitted she was well and truly caught to do anything but grimly wait out the months ahead, and during that time she made her plans.

The blond officer responsible for her plight had gotten himself blown up, the inconsiderate prick, but there had been that blond Lieutenant who had been such a stuck up priss, turning away from her every invitation, acting as if he hadn't even known what she was offering at first, then acting like she just wasn't good enough to suit him. Well, he'd do nicely, and later, when she needed funds, she imagined she could turn him into a nice source of funds. Whatever he did with the brats, she didn't care, but one way or the other, she imagined she'd make a pretty penny from him. Well, that had been the plan, anyway.

Now, with Leland back, and his memory more than a little fuzzy, it was time to retrieve those potential inheritance-savers. She had just the story for Leland; his brain was little better than his uncle's now, and she could easily outthink the pair of them. A furlough he didn't quite remember, but for which she would be able to provide all the necessary details, during which he'd sired those babes. Babes she'd born in solitude, still too torn up over her loss to return to society; then, having hid her precious babes with trusted companions to keep them safe. Yes, she predicted a fine, rich future for herself. All she had to do was get her hands on those three brats. She'd already confirmed in the village that there had been babies there, three of them; that nasty man with the bristles had told her. She was ready to fight for her rights! After all, blond haired, green eyed babies weren't all that easy to find, and since such ran in Leland's family almost exclusively, she didn't really have much choice.

Meghada took one last tour through the cottage. The last of the baby paraphernalia had supposedly been shipped off with Chrystalle, but she'd kept finding bits and pieces and had been collecting them in a small bag to take when they visited. Oh, nothing much, just a toy or two, a pair of baby socks, nothing that couldn't have just been tossed, but somehow that just didn't seem right, not when they brought such a wistful smile to her face. That bag now ended up under Max's cushion in the corner, the small black and white dog told to 'stay, guard'. The photograph Chrystalle had sent of the three babes with the three beaming new parents was quickly taken from the shelf and thrust into the safe concealed in the hallway paneling. The other picture she looked at with pleasure, and then quickly dusted the whole shelf, so there was no remaining trace of another picture having been there. It had only taken a moment to dust the other three shelves, to make that not seem out of the ordinary. So, housekeeping had been a little sparse recently; that last trip to Algiers had been rather time-consuming!

She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a deep breath and waited. A knock at the door, which she ignored. A second knock, and she got up and pulled the kitchen door open.

"Aye?" There was only gentle inquiry in her face, in her voice, while she cast a discerning eye over the brittle blonde in the fine dress. Then with a tilt of her head, and a puzzled frown "are you sure you're in the right place, miss? I called for a maid of all work; that would hardly be you; that dress is not at all suited for dealing with ashes and such, not even with a full apron," all innocence, that look being a masterful copy of one Goniff wore so frequently.

"I've come for my children," the woman responded, "and I am hardly a 'maid' of any sort."

"There be no children living here, not since I've owned the place and that's many a year now. Are you SURE you've not been misdirected?" knowing full well Doby had been tittle-tattling again. 

The woman swept past Meghada, the Dragon restraining her very natural impulse to toss her back out on her bustle. Instead she followed along, as the woman glanced around and proceeded to make her self free of the entire cottage. There was no trace of small inhabitants, excluding the small black and white dog who was watching her alertly from its bed in the corner. Brittany's eyes stopped on a picture - three babies being held on knees, one set being the young woman who'd opened the door.

"No children, I believe you said," she crowed. "What about those?" she pointed to the silver frame.

"My mum and da and me, and my newest siblings," Meghada explained. Brittany stepped closer, picked up the frame to look closer. Meghada's jaw tightened at the impertinence, but worked to maintain that gently puzzled expression. {"Should get an award for THIS performance, I should!"}

Brittany's face now wore a puzzled frown of its own. Those children were certainly not blonds, two having hair somewhere between dark brown and black, one having red curls. Well, that made sense; the man in the picture was dark, the woman fair and with red curls, as had the younger woman. And, regrettably, there wasn't a pair of blue eyes among the lot.

She tried again, not willing to give up on this idea. "I was told you had babies here, three of them, and within the past few months!" Her head had an arrogant, determined tilt.

Meghada nodded, "aye, well, Mum wasn't feeling all so perky, triplets at her age, you know; I took on the babes til she was recovered somewhat. All's well again, there, and me and Max are back to just looking after each other."

"Max?" Brittany looked hopeful, thinking there was someone else she could ask about those brats. {"Those ever so inconvenient brats! First in the appearing, now in the disappearing!"}

A smile and a nod of that red head indicated the small black and white dog, now standing stiff, his eyes trained on the woman in the expensive dress, a faint snarl on his lips. "Max. He's not much of a one for company, of course, but then, neither am I. So, if you truly aren't the maid-of-all-work I advertised for, I'd ask you to be on your way. It seems I'm destined to clean out the fireplaces and stoves all by myself, so I might as well get to it; nasty job, of course. Unless you DO intend to help; though you'd get your pretty dress all mussed doing it, I'm sure."

Now Brittany wasn't too sure this young woman was overly bright herself. As IF!

Another stop at that big house, this time to talk to once again to that Sergeant Major Rawlins, stiff and puckery and more than a little offensive if not overly bright. No comfort there, nor with the guards at the gate. She drove away, fuming, finally admitting to herself the strong possibility that that man she'd hired for a fast job of work, leaving those boxes at the mansion, might not have really done what he was hired for. Well, there was no finding him again; she wouldn't have a clue how to even go about it; he'd just been someone she'd approached outside one of the lower pubs. 

She sighed and headed back to London. It was all most frustrating, and it had had such potential! Now she was going to have to come up with something else, some way to get Leland's uncle to cough up some money. Preferably something not involving getting pregnant again! 

Well, she'd never had a problem getting men to do as she liked. Except for that blond Yank officer, the one who'd smiled and been so polite, even when he was so obviously intoxicated. 

Who would have thought he could have resisted her like that? It had been most annoying then, and it still rankled, that engaging smile, those kind green eyes, those gentle words that had seemed so promising at first - "such pretty blue eyes, soft blonde hair, yes. Very pretty". But then he'd shaken his head, an oddly sad smile replacing that engaging one, a world of regret in his face, "not the right blue eyes, though. Pretty smile, it's just not the right one."

He'd touched just one finger to her cheek, then he had been gone, without giving her a chance to even try to persuade him. She'd been stuck with that oaf of a Lieutenant Brown, who probably wouldn't have taken his shoes off first if she hadn't insisted. She would have waited and chosen someone else, except the first one had whetted her appetite for that odd combination of blond hair and green eyes, features which the ill-fated Lieutenant Brown had shared. She hit her hand against the steering wheel in frustration, "Damn it, I just cannot get a break!"

Meghada made a call to the Mansion, had gotten Gil's reassurances, and poured herself another drink, this time not coffee, lifting it in a toast. She doubted Brittany Majors would be coming back; if she did, well, she would be dealt with, one way or the other. In any case, her Family was safe and sound, as much as the war permitted, that particular danger vanquished nicely.


End file.
